Today I felt like I had brain junk I wanted to get out.
Addicted to the page.
But I don’t really have a whole lot to say. In earnest. No travel story. No fodder for thought.
But, after a decision to embark on a spontaneous afternoon road trip, I think I learnt something of great importance.
The weather outside reached hyperthermic levels, the wind doing great things for jacket sales in town and my stubborn refusal to don pants in attempt to drag summer out for as long as possible stood out like an offensive word in an old people’s home.
We drove south, four of us in my housemate’s car. Gangster music inappropriate for the setting sending us all into our separate worlds of thought. We stopped at a friend’s house to help him clean his mum’s kitchen and stare at the fake ducks on his half full dam.
The place was pretty. Fine details of humanhood blended perfectly with nature’s own creation. We stared at the cacti in the garden and hugged the rocks in the Japanese feature garden.
We surfed in waves that the temperature was far too low for it to be worth it and drank hot chocolates in a cafe with orange booths that made me feel like we were in one of those awkward scenes from an arthouse movie.
One of those one’s where nothing really happens but the characters change and that’s the whole point.
And maybe that’s today.
This is not my paradise. I crank the heat in my room at night just to trick my sleeping self into dreaming of the tropics.
This is not my paradise. On the outside.
But maybe in my mind.
Maybe where it matters.